Proof of Sentience
by Carmilla DeWinter
Summary: It's a world where mutants are considered sub-human vermin at worst, and useful lab rats at best. The first step then for a mutant is to reject that way of thinking, and the second is to realize they're not alone. - Or, a dystopian AU based on the "Searchlight" fics on AO3. Links are on my profile
1. Vague plans and exact places

It's a world where mutants are considered sub-human vermin at worst, and useful lab rats at best. The first step then for a mutant is to reject that way of thinking, and the second is to realize they're not alone.

This is a non-authorized spin-off and missing bits fic for "Searchlight" by Red and "Methods of Deduction" by Tawabids over at AO3. Go read first, otherwise my fic will probably make little sense to you. Those fics are both brilliant, if somewhat disturbing. I bow to Red and Tawabids both, and shall be eternally grateful for the inspiration. Nevertheless, the ending left me with a strange taste in my mouth, therefore, this fic. A fanfic of fanfic. Meta-fanfic? I dunno.

Easiest way to find the fics is using the AO3 search function and entering "searchlight" or use the links I provide in my profile. (Because, you know, not even using spaces and replacing a freaking dot with a word in parantheses works here. Talk about paranoia. *grumble*)

Consider this also a warning that the disturbing subject matter continues herein, even if I'm low on the details.

I consider this an ensemble piece. There will be some middling-important OCs and some pairings of the het, femslash and slash variety, with no lemons. It's AU, I'm playing mostly with First Class and otherwise am borrowing from the rest of the movie cannon and teensy bit from the comics.

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Proof of Sentience

Part 1: Of Vague Plans and Exact Places

On a Saturday in August 1954, dawning bright and somewhat humid over Vancouver despite the thunderstorm during the night, Yuriko Oyama rose at six thirty in the morning. Her parents were already up and preparing for their day at their little tailor shop. As it was a weekend, and the holidays, Yuriko didn't have to help out, so she collected a book, a blanket, a bottle of water and cookies to go read in Stanley Park.

"Don't climb the trees, love," her mother said. "Promise me."

Yuriko tried her hardest not to roll her eyes. Her mother worried far too much. "I promise."

Because Stanley Park was more than two miles from home, Yuriko took the bus, then hastened to find her favorite maple tree in a secluded spot. For all that she was a good daughter – she studied hard, always kept her curfew, and practiced playing the piano every day for at least half an hour without being told – she had one weakness. Yuriko loved climbing trees.

Taking a length of string from her bag, she bound one end around a small rock, tied the other to the bag, and tossed the rock over the bough she usually sat on for reading. Then, she began climbing. Approximately sixteen feet from the ground, there was a bit of a gap which required her to hang onto the next branch with both hands and pull herself up.

There was a creak, the wood moved under her hands, and Yuriko knew she would fall. It seemed an infinitely slow process as the branch tilted with more creaking, then snapped.

Yuriko was aware she should do something, try to grab a hold, maybe scream for help, but she found herself utterly frozen, unable to even blink. It was like she was floating outside herself, watching the teenager with the tidy black braid and the pink skirt fall in a riot of tearing leaves and a rain of little twigs knocked loose by her descent.

She hit the ground with the feet first, something cracked in her left leg with blinding pain, her knees impacted, sending jolts of agony to her hips, and finally, she came to in a heap on the ground, weeping silently, because it hurt. Eventually, she roused herself enough to push the faulty branch off of herself with raw hands, or at least, with her right hand, because her left elbow wouldn't move without causing more pain. Yuriko braced herself and struggled to sit. Her left leg lay at an odd angle.

Broken.

There was a burn in that leg, as if she were walking through fire. The same went for the damaged arm, so there was no way Yuriko would be able to find help. She'd have to call for someone.

She sighed, and raised her hands to – wait. Her palm had been bleeding a moment ago, hadn't it. And she most definitely had not been able to move her left hand.

For a moment, she could only stare at a scrape that sealed up right before her eyes.

This wasn't natural. Not at all.

Yuriko bit on her knuckles to keep herself from making a sound. Bloody… bloody hell, she was one of those mutated beasts. It was the only explanation making sense.

And yet. As she carefully tried to move her left leg and the bones realigned themselves, she didn't feel particularly beastly. Just hurting, and thirsty, and hungry, and uncomfortable, with all the dirt sticking to her.

Despite the increasing thirst and hunger, Yuriko sat at her crash site a long time, unable to move even once.

What to do? If… if this healing was the extent of her curse, then she wasn't all that different from normal humans, was she. She could go undetected, if she were careful. If anyone found out, the Mutant Control Board would come for her, and take her to some research facility or maybe even put her down like some rabid animal. Most Homo deterior that were useless for science or too dangerous were killed. Euthanised, as the newspapers called it.

Still, considering the task at hand, maybe Yuriko should turn herself in. She'd have to keep herself from injury in a home that lived off needlework, after all. And what about PE in school? She couldn't skip those classes. And if, by some miracle, she managed to keep her parents and friends in the dark, she certainly wouldn't be able to fool a future husband.

Until this morning, her life had been laid out in a straight path before her – she would get an education, marry a nice, successful man, have two or three children. And now, with this curse upon her, she would not only have to find a man whom her parents approved of, he would also have to be willing to keep this secret.

Yuriko didn't want to have to deal with this, she wanted to curl up somewhere, go to sleep and wake up in a future that would be more friendly to mutants.

And yet. Yuriko had never much thought about it, but now, now she knew the newspapers were lying. At least some mutants were just people with a bit extra. There would be no better future unless someone brought about change. Feeling sorry for herself would accomplish exactly nothing – she'd have to see that she would be in a position of influence, if she wanted to live, and live well.

A hazy plan at best, but better than nothing. Yuriko made herself get up, cleaned off as well as she could, and wolfed down the cookies.

xxx

Three years earlier, on another bright summer day, though not nearly as humid, because a nice breeze was blowing in from the lake, Salome Inez Richardson stared out of the window of her daddy's car and had a headache.

It was her eleventh birthday, her dad was taking her out camping and fishing, and on any other day, she would have waved at the people by the roadside and in the other cars. This morning, however, her parents had fought. Again.

After another quarter of an hour of silence, Dad said, "She didn't mean it, Sal."

Salome sniffed. Packed up in the rant about how could Samuel Richardson let his daughter run about in boys' clothes, it wasn't done, and everything else Isabella Gutierrez Richardson didn't like, she'd called Salome the devil's spawn, and said that she wished she'd never left her family in Florida to marry some writer who had his head in the clouds all the time.

"She did mean it, too," Sal said.

"She does love us," Dad said.

"Hmm." Yeah. It wasn't like Sal didn't her love her mother, and she desperately wanted to be a daughter her mother approved of, but Sal never seemed to live up to the standards. "Do you love her?", Sal asked.

Her dad was silent for a long while, his brow knitted, and he looked very, very sad. "Yes," he said eventually. "I do love her, but." A sigh. "I don't like her very much."

"Hm-hmm," Sal agreed. "I don't like her, either."

Dad sighed again.

Sal rubbed her temples. The ache was a bit better now, but it still felt as if there were ants crawling behind her eyes. "Are you, um, going to get a divorce?"

It wasn't something that happened often, Sal knew, and when people talked about it, they were never nice about the people who couldn't manage to stay married.

"I don't know," Dad said.

That wasn't really an answer, though Sal knew not to press.

The next bit of the trip went well. They found a nice spot in the forest to put their tent, and there was enough time to catch a couple trout in the nearby creek for dinner. Sal was oddly tired and turned in early.

She didn't sleep well, though, and woke up a few times, because her eyes were still itchy, and the ants had moved to her fingers to rummage around in there. At home, she'd have told Dad or her mother, but now, now she was afraid Dad would take her to the doctor, and then would bundle her up and take her home.

Sal didn't want to go home at all, because all she'd return to was more yelling.

As dim light from early morning filtered into the tent, Sal woke up hungry, as if the ants from earlier had gnawed a hole into her stomach, and she just couldn't fall asleep again. There was nothing for it, then, she'd have to get up and haul down the pack with the provisions from the tree, where they'd stored it to keep it out of the bears' reach.

Crawling outside, she accidentally kicked her dad, who said "ow", and sat up, blinking.

For a while, he stared at her, with a strange look on his face, so Sal didn't dare make a peep.

"Well, fuck," Dad said eventually.

"Bad word," Sal said.

He sighed. "I think, in these particular circumstances, I'm entitled to use profanities. Where's that little mirror of yours?"

And so, Salome got to see her own eyes glow like a cat's. This was odd, but it would be a nice kind of odd, if there weren't the m-word. Mutant. And, consequently, the Canadian Mutant Control Board.

"Nobody can ever know," Dad said, when he was done explaining.

Sal frowned. Obviously, her dad wanted her to be afraid, but all she could feel was a burn in her guts, and an overwhelming need to smash somebody's head in. You couldn't just kill babies because they were green, or lock up people just because they had odd eyes like Sal. "I shouldn't have to hide. It's not right."

"No, no, it isn't. Yet…"

"And how do we keep it from mother?"

"Breakfast," Dad said. "I can't plot on an empty stomach."

So they ate, and planned, and then found out that Sal could actually switch her night-sight on and off. Also, her nose was better than before, she had retractable claws instead of fingernails, and she could jump higher than she was tall.

Really, it would have been groovy, if not for the need to hide it.

xxx

The plan hinged on the Richardson grandparents, Marianne and Thomas, and the great-grandfather, Saul. Now that Thomas Richardson was retired from his job as an accountant for the logging company, he and Marianne had moved from their place in a backwater mountain town out to Saul Richardson's cabin in Shadow Creek Valley, which was a one hour hike from the town, and could only be reached by things that weren't wider than a man on a horse. The Richardson men tended to be loners who preferred reading over honest hard work, and Marianne swore she had no idea how any of them had ever managed to marry.

The fist thing she had done after moving in was repair the leaky roof her father-in-law hadn't minded, and fix the windows in the horse stable.

Under the ruse of visiting old Saul – one could never know how much longer the eighty-seven year old would be around – Samuel Richardson took his daughter there one week after they returned from the camping trip.

Samuel's sister fetched them from the train station, they stayed at her house for a couple days, so Salome could play with her three cousins, and then she drove them up the mountain as far as the logging road let her. From there, Samuel and Salome had to hike another ten minutes through the little canyon that named the creek.

In the evening, when Sal was finally in bed, the adults sat around the big kitchen table, Marianne made grog, and they did the catching up.

"How's the writing going?", Saul asked.

"So, so," Samuel said, "I've been thinking about doing something a little more contemporary." So far, he'd made a name and decent money by writing adventures and romances set in the 1800s out west. "I was thinking about tackling the mutant issue."

Thomas harrumphed. "Are you sure about this, son?"

Samuel blinked. "Well, I find it striking how much Nazi propaganda and the so-called information on mutants have in common." He would've grown angry even if his daughter weren't endangered by it, now that he had done some research.

"This could be dangerous," Marianne said, ever practical, and a worrying mother, too.

"Many worthwhile things are dangerous," grandpa Saul said.

"They may be," added Thomas, "but one has to know when to stick their head out, and when to lay low." He fixed his son with a calculating look. "This situation with mutants is a disgrace, I agree. However, I don't think you've developed that sudden interest quite on your own?"

And this was why Samuel and Salome Richarson moved to Alberta and Salome was home-schooled from then on, until she had a grip on everything she could do with her mutant powers.

xxx

Samuel made Sal write to her mother once a month, and she did, but she never got an answer save for her birthday and Christmas. She was surprised how much it didn't hurt.

xxx

Saul Richardson died the next February, but the population in Shadow Creek Valley started to grow soon thereafter. First, there was the entirely hairless third son of Albert and Josephine Whitman. It was entirely by chance Thomas heard about him when shopping in town with Salome, and there was also word that Mutant Control was on their way. Josephine Whitman apparently refused to have anything to do with her freak child, while Albert was busy trying to keep the little thing alive by using milk powder.

Sal never knew what grandpa Thomas said to Mr. Whitman, but they left the town only when it was dark, and little Leonard was sleeping, securely tied to her, making contented baby sounds.

Marianne scolded her husband for just adopting a kid, but, well, there was nothing for it now. As if to spite her dire warnings, Lenny Whitman survived the milk powder diet with surprisingly few bellyaches and grew, while Mutant Control came and went, accepting the explanation that Albert Whitman had left his child outside, and a bear must have taken it. That way, it could be called an accident, and the family buried an empty coffin.

When Lenny caught his fist cold, it turned out that he was some sort of chameleon, who changed his skin color to fit the surroundings.

The next ones, in late summer the same year, were Quebecois twins a couple years older than Sal, who'd run away from home to join a circus once they realized they could go so fast they could fly. Samuel had taken Sal to the circus a couple towns further down the mountains as a treat, even borrowing his brother-in-law's car for it, but she had been thoroughly distracted from the show, on account of two people who smelled similar to little Lenny. They hung around, under the pretense of finishing their popcorn, until Sal was sure about whose smell it was.

However, Jeanne-Marie and Jean-Paul Beaubier were a little hesitant to join up, even though Sal showed them her claws.

"Don't you ever have accidents?", Samuel asked. "She messes up often enough."

Sal nodded vigorously.

The twins looked at each other, obviously remembering something.

"What's in it for us?", the boy eventually asked.

"A safe place," Samuel said.

"A cause, if you want one," Sal added.

The twins raised their brows.

"It's not right, isn't it? Us having to hide, because otherwise we'd get killed."

The twins smiled at that, thinly. And so Jeanne-Marie started to pack while Jean-Paul went to notify their boss of their leaving.

Sal remained blissfully unaware of the paperwork and the arguing with the twins' parents Samuel did in the next several weeks, but eventually he had custody and Monsieur Beaubier's promise to pay for any higher education the twins would aspire to.

It was then Marianne pointed out that one accountant's pension and Samuel's book royalties were not enough to keep four mutant children fed and hidden from view. That summer, they built a dam so they could raise trout in the creek, and two greenhouses for vegetables and fruit.


	2. Beyond mere selfish survival

Part 2: Beyond Mere Selfish Survival

On the ninth anniversary of Emma Silverfox being relabeled USA-M-00012 by the DSHA, the US Department for Sub-Human Affairs, she was given actual clothes together with her breakfast. "You're being moved, bitch," the warden said. It was then that she knew the waiting had paid off.

Emma put on the clothes; drawstring pants and a loose, long-sleeved shirt to go over the hospital gown, both of coarse linen, gray, with lines of dried sweat and a spatter of old blood. It was the same set she always had to wear. But better than nothing.

She let herself be put into shackles, manhandled into the courtyard of the facility, and shoved into the back of a small truck. However, she wasn't going alone – a boy, maybe seven or eight years old, was already sitting on the bench to the left. He was hunched over, his hands tied at his back, and there was a thick blind over his eyes.

Fate had a way to thwart her plans, it seemed.

The child was shivering, despite it being a warm day in September. Once the warden had locked the door from the outside, Emma dared to peek at him with her powers.

The fear nearly made her choke.

This boy, by name of Michael Scott Summers, called Scott by everyone he knew, shot some kind of red beams from his eyes, but he was unable to stop them. Despite being treated like a rabid dog so far, he was deathly afraid of someone removing the blind without warning, afraid of hurting anyone, even his jailers. He was clever enough to know that, if he didn't get a handle on his powers, he would be killed, and he almost welcomed the thought, while still railing against the power that had decreed him a mutant.

Emma wrinkled her nose. If she made him help her with the escape, he would be her responsibility. There was no leaving him, and he wouldn't feel safe in a crowded place, unlike Emma.

While the truck moved through what had to be the city's rush hour, Emma took the time to study her surroundings. There were a driver and a guard in front, both smoking, but the smell didn't reach the back, so it was unlikely that they'd hear if Emma talked to Scott. They expected an uneventful journey of several hours to Chicago. There was a little window, but neither of the men made a point of checking in on the prisoners, even when they reached a stretch of straight highway, and the clamor of minds around them receded.

Emma cleared her throat. "Hello," she said. "My name is Emma."

Scott did a wonderful job of staring at her, even though she couldn't see his eyes. "Hi," he eventually offered. Clever enough to consider that she was a plant by the scientists.

"Please don't panic, but I'm going to talk in your head from now on. Just think back at me, alright?"

In other circumstances, that would have been when someone activated the shock collar Emma wore, but she wasn't punished, so obviously, neither driver nor guard were listening in. If she hadn't long given up on faith in a higher being, Emma would have prayed then.

It took a while for her to convince Scott to help, and he only agreed after she promised the guard and the driver would survive.

The first thing she did was employ a skill she had managed to hide for all those years, and turned diamond, or rather, partially diamond. That way, she acquired rather sharp fingernails. The collars – thick leather and circuitry – were no match for the hardest substance on earth, even if the sawing took a little time. Scott's handcuffs were still more work. Then, she waited until they reached a spot on the road where she couldn't feel any people in the vicinity, made Scott take off the blind, and punch a hole into the truck's floor while losing the chain of her shackles at the same time.

It worked beautifully, as the driver brought the van to a screeching halt, and Emma used the men's distraction to grab their minds.

In the end, she took the guard's lighter to set the diesel aflame, tossed their wallets, emptied of all bills, into the blaze, and then had Scott look at the fire. It flared white, and they needed to take several steps back to escape the thick black smoke and the heat. The asphalt around the truck began to bubble. Hot enough to burn even bone, Emma hoped. USA-M-00012 and USA-K-00053 were dead. They'd need new surnames, too, and at least for Emma, a change of hair color might be advisable.

Finally, she allowed Scott to close his eyes, and turned to the two men.

"You heard us scream." She supplied a sound memory of one of the uglier experiments. "It was the most horrible sound you have ever heard, and you will never forget it. You'll have nightmares on occasion, hearing us scream for help, and you'll always feel guilty of having let the mutants burn to death. They knew to call for help, after all. These weren't just animals bleating in fright."

The two humans blinked their assent, and Emma joined Scott in the surrounding woods.

"Where do we go from here?", Scott asked, more trusting than any child should be.

In search of a destination, Emma cast her senses far. She hated having to rely on gut feelings, but still. "Northwest," she decided. "Into Canada."

"Okay." Scott tilted his head. "North is there." He pointed.

Emma looked at the sun, guessed at the time, and thought he was correct. "Remarkable," she said for his benefit.

He ducked his head and blushed a little.

"Will you be my little brother?", she asked.

He nodded, without thinking.

"We are Scott and Emma Frost."

"Okay." Scott cleared his throat. "Scott Frost. Sounds a bit off."

"Pick a middle name you like."

It took a few sets of stolen clothes, considerable use of her telepathy, a trip to the barber's for some hair bleach, and a few rides hitched for her and her poor little blind brother, but they made it into the Canadian Rockies within two weeks.

Scott never asked why they were going into the mountains, but eventually, the hunch paid off, when at their last stop, she saw an older man and a girl of maybe thirteen with wild curls load supplies on a mule in front of the general store. The girl had a curious mind – streamlined and feral.

"We're almost there." Emma tugged at Scott's hand to make him cross the street.

Curly-Sue looked up at them, and her nostrils flared as if she could taste Emma and Scott on the wind. Then, she smiled.

xxx

Emma Frost was eighteen and a pain in the ass, as Sal, Jean-Paul and Jeanne-Marie agreed. She complained about everything – the weather, the lodgings, and she called their place Mutieville. Why Lenny and Scott adored her, the older kids had no idea.

Emma wasn't good at practical things at all, but she had a keen sense for numbers.

"You two are too similar," Samuel once said to his daughter, but Sal just snorted. Prissy, vain Miss Frost was nothing like Sal Richardson.

xxx

The next spring, Emma moved into Grande Prairie with Scott, mind-whammied an official into providing documentation for her and the kid, and started working as an accountant, while beginning to invest for Samuel Richardson. The stock markets loved her, and she loved them in return. The money paid for a steam generator, a phone line, a car and a place to keep it at the entrance of Shadow Creek Valley. Marianne got a flock of goats to pamper.

xxx

Louise Bishop had been a midwife ever since, at age fourteen, she had helped her Mama, may she rest in peace, deliver the neighbor's third baby.

"You have miracle hands, girl," the neighbor had said. "I ain't never felt so little pain before."

Louise had known she'd found her vocation then. She didn't have an education, no fancy degree, and certainly no license, so she was cheaper than a real doctor. The poor folks all came to her, even the white poor folks. She never lost babies, or their mothers, which was indeed a miracle, considering how many mamas and babies died in the hospitals.

So, Louise went to church every Sunday, unless there was a baby needing delivering, and she lit a candle every evening and prayed to thank God for this gift.

When she was twenty three, Louise had a little boy for herself, Jacob, but she'd had the good sense to never marry his papa, who had never learned to face difficulties instead of running from them. Better to be a one-time sinner having a child out of wedlock than spending your life married to a man you wished to die every single day. Louise had stayed with her Mama instead, and when her Mama died in an accident soon after – ran over by a white man's car, and he never so much got fined for it – Louise kept renting the house.

Just a couple months later, she met a blind white girl, by name of Irene Adler, in Missy Cleaver's boarding house, while delivering Missy's second son. They got to talking – Louise had never met a blind person who was so good at finding things in another woman's kitchen, let alone managed to tap their way to the French Quarter every day to make money by telling the tourists their fortune.

They became friends, and even though the neighbors told Louise she was daft for sharing with a white woman, she eventually rented out a room to Irene herself, because she needed the cash, and they got along like a house afire besides. Irene insisted Louise read to her, and made her get a library pass. "You are going to need all the education you can get," Irene said, and Louise trusted her, because Irene wasn't just fortune telling, she was also actually future telling. In turn, Louise made Irene attend church, because the girl wasn't properly grateful for her gifts yet.

Another year passed, and then it was a rainy night late in October 1955, and someone banged on Louise's door at half past one in the morning.

Irene woke up, too. "I'll be packing."

"You do that," Louise said, because she knew better than to argue with Irene.

The one making the racket was Missy Cleaver. "You need to come quick. Sylvie be having a baby."

Louise had no idea who Sylvie was, but took her bag and left her son in Irene's care, to splash after Missy along the muddy back roads.

It turned out that Sylvie was a poor white girl from the swamps, boarding with Missy out of sheer desperation. Sylvie was fat, and couldn't be more than sixteen.

"I didn't know she be pregnant." Missy wrung her hands instead of being useful. "I just thought she be unhappy, and eating to make up for it."

Louise nodded and went to work.

The baby came out two hours later, and when the little boy opened his eyes, Louise nearly let him drop. No blue eyes for this baby, no sir. Inky black and red, instead, and then Louise knew why Irene had said she'd pack. Good thing Louise was still breastfeeding her two-year old son every night. Lord help her.

This baby, he felt just like every other baby Louise had ever held, healthy, but unhappy about the cool air and sudden space. But if she let Missy or Sylvie, or anyone else keep this little innocent being, they would call a doctor, and the doctor would decide that the child was a mutant abomination and needed to be put down.

Louise was very sure that no child could ever be an abomination; whether they be scaly or homosexual or funny-eyed, the Lord had intended them to be that way, and humanity had no right messing with that.

So, Louise thought a quick prayer, she asked for strength and for forgiveness, because she was about to do some serious lying. "You just given birth to a mutant."

Missy gasped.

Sylvie blinked. "Good. Don't have to keep it then."

Just like Louise had thought, so she nodded.

"We gotta call the police," Missy said.

Louise frowned. "So they'll know Sylvie is the mama, and ask questions."

Sylvie made big eyes and shook her head. "Please, no."

"So, why don't I just take it with me and charge you no fee and we never speak of this again."

Missy nodded. Sylvie nodded, looking entirely too grateful.

So Louise wrapped the entire sorry unwashed squealing bundle up in a towel. "It's just a mutant, right, but I will need to do some praying, once everything is done. I need a name for that, Sylvie. A boy's name."

Sylvie scrunched up her face in distaste. "Remy."

"Good. You two pray for me."

When Louise returned home, both she and the little one drenched from the rain, Irene had packed up, true to her word, but she'd left some of Lucas's baby things out, so Louise could finally clean little Remy, and feed him.

"I sure can see why you'd want me to leave," Louise said. "Mutants ain't fit company. I just ain't seeing why you'd come with."

Irene smiled. "Oh, Louise."

"Don't you 'oh, Louise' me, girl."

"Louise… I see the possibilities. You heal people. This little one will have a talent for disorder. As will Lucas."

Louise blinked. "You saying I'm a mutant, too?" She wasn't ready yet to consider what Irene had said about Lucas.

Another smile. "Just as I am. And I've been continually on the run, knowing someone would use me or kill me for my talents." Irene sighed. "I knew I would one day find someone to belong with, and yet, I felt so utterly alone." Louise wanted to reach out, comfort her, but Irene shook her head. "Now is the time to realize kinship, and to actually use my talents for my people."

A people. Louise had a hard time wrapping her head about that approach, because she didn't like any lines drawn between us and them. And yet. "Where we going?"

"There is a group of people where we can find shelter. In Canada."

Louise shuddered. Traveling into the cold. "There be snow up there even in October."

"I've packed all the warm things."

And so, they lugged two children and a couple large bags each to the station, Irene bought tickets to Jackson, Mississippi, and off they were.

There, she found a used car dealer who didn't ask questions. Louise had to learn how to drive then, while Irene was trying to keep the children in check in the backseat.

The journey was hell on everyone's eardrums regardless. Little Remy sure knew how to make a ruckus, just like Irene had said, and Lucas wasn't at all happy about it, being clingy and waking Remy when he did finally sleep. Jealous, of course, having to share his mama, and once he outright admitted he'd like her to drop off Remy at the nearest church.

Eventually, they reached the border, and Louise drove them into Canada via bad back roads in the mountains as to Irene's order. Irene also found a shady character in Calgary who was willing to sell them Canadian license plates. From there, they went further north from a chilly late fall into true winter.

All of them were truly worn out and sick of each other's company by the time they made it to Grande Prairie. By whatever miracle there was a young woman with blond hair waiting for them on main street, almost invisible in the snow for her white clothes. Her name was Emma Frost, and she directed them onward to the settlement of Irene's vision.

The next morning Louise woke up to Remy's cries of hunger and crystals of ice on her new room's tiny window. Lucas had left his own bed and cuddled up to her during the last feeding. The world outside was a brilliant, blinding, unforgiving white.

Far, far away from New Orleans and nights spent on the porch, Louise let the baby cry for once, curled up under her blanket and sobbed into her pillow.

xxx

At the same time, Yuriko Oyama's parents made her attend a ballroom dancing class that took place every Saturday afternoon in the high school's gym. Her mother ignored her protests. "I don't know what to do with you. Yes, you're quiet, just like your father, you've always been. But I worry. You don't have friends anymore. A girl needs someone to confide in."

As if Yuriko didn't know that. Sometimes the secret felt like it would make her burst, and she was afraid she'd blurt it out to the first sympathetic ear she met, so it was better to keep isolated, and lonely, but safe.

The dancing class wouldn't have been so bad, really, but after the first couple of lessons, her partner was and remained Jamie Saunders, who stepped on her toes several times a song. The ache wasn't the worst, the worst was this: "How can you even walk?", asked one of the other girls after Yuriko had endured the second lesson with him without complaint.

Yuriko's breath hitched. Did someone suspect? "I don't know," she said. "Maybe you are just overly sensitive."

The girl pursed her lips in annoyance, and never spoke to Yuriko again.

The second worst obstacle wasn't quite as easy to brush off. Yuriko had felt that something besides the healing was wrong with her, and the dancing class confirmed it: She spent as much time looking at boy's arms and behinds as staring at the girl's breasts.

It was wrong, and yet not, because it wasn't like Yuriko had chosen to find Sandy Hu's neckline the prettiest thing she had ever seen.

Yuriko decided to go for a job that required years of studying, because until she had graduated, her parents wouldn't insist she marry. Then, maybe, this odd attraction to girls would have faded.

xxx

Emma knew she was good. Scrounging up Canadian identification for both Louise and Irene was very little trouble to her. While she passed off Irene as her cousin, and let her stay in town with her, like Scott – Mutieville was just too uncomfortable to navigate as a blind person – Louise Bishop stayed up there and did the doctoring. Because, as opposed to obnoxious Curly Sal, Louise was able to heal everyone except herself.

And if the town gossip said that Samuel Richardson was living in sin with a black woman twenty years his junior, then, maybe, they weren't entirely wrong.

xxx

Sal had known what would happen as soon as Louise and her dad had the first good look at each other. Jealousy flared, then died down quickly. Louise was a no-nonsense person who mothered everyone who didn't escape in time. Also, Sal couldn't help but respect a woman who didn't tame her curls.

Emma's nickname was good-natured, but occasionally, some girls at high school saw fit to give Sal beauty advice, and it always went, "If you dressed more neatly, and maybe did something to straighten that awful frizz…"

xxx

In fall 1956, Jeanne-Marie left for a pre-law education back east. Irene sometimes made Emma call her to bring the occasional baby in, and send runaways and strays to Mutieville. One of those was a taciturn Cheyenne man who only gave his name as Forge. Forge was fascinated by Scott's power, and eventually, through many trials, came up with red glasses that stopped the beams, and another, more bulky set to make controlled blasts.

Jean-Paul helped Forge build a third cabin before moving out for a career with the RCMP in Edmonton. He, too, did some occasional mutant-saving. Both of the twins were also doing supply runs, buying a little here and a little there, because there was no way Samuel Richardson would be able to buy even a week's worth of flour in town for twice the people he admitted to feeding without drawing attention.

xxx

In the same year, fourteen year old Henry McCoy developed both a case of mild acne as well as overlong toes. They were ugly, made him look like a monkey. Fortunately, they were covered up much more easily than the acne – given that he'd always preferred books to outdoor activities, he simply made sure to wear shoes or at least socks all the time.

But he couldn't be one of those mutants. After all, if he continued to work as he did, and if his mother would quit being overprotective, he would be able to attend university in another year.

The feet, they had to be some sort of accident of nature, like an exceptionally big mole or a hare lip.

xxx

Two years later, Sal Richardson finished high school, and applied to the University of British Columbia in Vancouver for a biology master. After all, she was ultimately planning to prove that mutants were people. Just like women were persons, as Canadian law put it so succinctly. She left a population of the elder Richardsons, eight adult mutants and sixteen children in Mutieville.


	3. Jailbirds, no singing

Part 3: Jailbirds, no singing

There were only three women in Sal's Introduction to Genetics class, and one of them was another mutant. Pre-med Yuriko Oyama was quiet and kept largely to herself, but well, Sal was nothing if not persistent.

xxx

Yuriko had signed up for the Introduction into Genetics mostly because she wanted to see the mutant the UBC kept. It was just her luck that that creepy girl, Salome Richardson, had signed up for it, too, and so she had to endure the girl's stares for biology, genetics, physics and chemistry.

More often than not, Yuriko wondered if Richardson was a gipsy – with that first name, her eagle nose and the wild dark curls, she certainly fit the stereotype. Also, after being told repeatedly that pants on women weren't actually forbidden, but not advised, Richardson tended to turn up in the most colorful floor length rags she could find. It was said gypsies sometimes had witch powers, so maybe Richardson sensed something on Yuriko. She would have quit the course early – she didn't need the credit at all – but as her luck went, only the last lecture of the first winter term took the class to the university's own mutant – CAN-P-00002, which meant that they were the second Canadian mutant used for study, with a physical mutation.

Yuriko saw a thin, seven foot tall, hairy man dressed in stained drawstring pants. He was kept inside a cage of steel with a hole in the ground for a toilet, a nest of blankets, and a tree trunk wedged between the bars so that the man could rest there like an oversized cat. It was smelly and altogether a disgrace. Most animals at the zoo had better living arrangements, and were at least given a place where they could retreat from the audience.

The mutant raised his head at the class's arrival, looked like he was taking in the air, and then fixed his gaze solidly on first Yuriko, and then Richardson.

Unfortunately, Professor Rivoir did notice that the mutant took a special interest in the two of them. "You two. Demoiselles Oyama and Richardson. Come a little closer, s'il vous plaît."

They did, to the whispers of their co-students.

Still, the mutant stared at both Richardson and Yuriko, as if he couldn't decide who was more interesting.

"It's never shown any interest in my students before," Professor Rivoir said. "This is very interesting."

Yuriko felt the heat rush into her face and ducked her head. Richardson grunted noncommittally.

The professor turned to look at them, and he hemmed and hawed a little, before asking, "Is one of you, um, menstruating?"

One of the boys chuckled. Yuriko wished her mutant power was to be invisible. And yet, she caught a quick glance at the caged mutant, who grinned, winked, and then sank down into his usual bored persona.

"No," Richardson said.

Yuriko couldn't bring herself to make any sound.

Professor Rivoir realized the mutant had seemingly dozed off again, and finished his lecture in peace. How P2 was immune to the shock collars, and immune to every drug they tried. It also had enhanced senses, and healed fast, which made it near impossible to euthanise the mutant. The university also hoped to breed it, but on the rare occasions they had managed to milk it for sperm, the seed hadn't taken with the intended mothers, and it showed no interest in any females they presented to it.

Basically, it behaved like a terminally depressed cat.

And yet. Yuriko had the sense that this one was waiting for something. And that maybe he had smelled Yuriko being different, and that just, maybe, Richardson was a mutant, too, and no gipsy witch.

After class, they fell in step beside each other, and it felt eerily natural. Their path took them outside the building into the freezing winter night, where Richardson dug out a cigarette and a lighter.

"So, uh," Richardson said eventually, exhaling smoke. "I don't think Mister Mutant in there noticed us because we're female..."

Yuriko raised a brow. For all that she suspected, she wasn't ready to come out with the truth first. Nobody knew, nobody could know. Couldn't they?

"We might have more in common with him than we'd like to admit." Richardson held out her hand and flexed her fingers, making the nails elongate into claws.

Well, that wasn't as impressive as Yuriko has silently expected. "You're like him?"

"Not quite. I'm not nearly as powerful a healer, but I might have a better sense of smell."

That had to be it – Richardson had smelled Yuriko being different the entire time. Yuriko made herself breathe. "Why do you smoke, then? If it doesn't do anything for you?"

Richardson offered a toothy grin. "Ever consider that I wouldn't want to smell everything?"

That was a point indeed.

"So, what do you do?"

"I heal very fast."

"Groovy," Richardson said.

Yuriko felt the corners of her mouth tug upward. Yes, groovy, only for a different reason entirely – she was talking to another mutant. She didn't have to be an island anymore. Reason enough to bubble over from happiness, if it weren't for reality. "Thank you. But it would make me a prime breeding mare, wouldn't it."

Richardson said nothing.

"It's a disgrace, how they're keeping him. Like a goldfish in a bowl."

"Yeah… You know, I know people who'd be able to break him out."

More mutants? Wow. Yuriko would have to meet them. "I sense a but there."

"We have no idea what his mind frame is. I'd need to talk to him a bit first."

Yuriko wriggled her nose. She wanted to see the mutant freed, too, but the prof had said he was dangerous. "I could…"

Richardson tilted her head like a curious cat.

"If I talk to Professor Rivoir and pretend that I indeed am having my period, maybe I can get into an observation project?"

"You'd do that?" Richardson looked at her oddly.

Yuriko nodded.

"Thank you." Richardson held out her hand, and Yuriko shook it. "I'm Sal."

xxx

Professor Rivoir was overjoyed at Yuriko approaching him. So far, he didn't have any women in his research group, and he devised a small project for next term where Yuriko would be required to watch the mutant for two hours twice per week, while recording the state of her cycle, and how the mutant responded to her, and the smell.

As the scientists left the mutant largely alone, that was four hours of unsupervised time with the man per week.

However, for the fist three dates, the mutant just watched her. After that, Yuriko decided that a more direct approach was in order, because the man was obviously happy to wait out the apocalypse if necessary.

"Hello," she said the next time she entered the large room with the cage.

The mutant blinked.

"My name is Yuriko," she continued. "I heal. Sal, that's the curly haired one, she does the super senses and claws."

His nose twitched.

"Sal says she has people who can get you out, and a place where you could stay."

The mutant harrumphed and stared her down.

Yuriko stared right back. Yes, in a match he might be stronger, but she'd be faster, and no damage he did would be permanent. She hoped.

"I'm Victor," he eventually rumbled.

Yuriko smiled.

He bared his fangs, and kept silent for the remaining one hundred and five minutes.

xxx

Like every project night, Sal was waiting up for Yuriko outside, smoking. "And?"

Yuriko shrugged. "His name is Victor."

"And?"

"That's it. He wouldn't say any more."

Sal sniffed, and Yuriko thought she caught a hint of disdain.

"You devise a project for yourself, if you're so keen on having results yesterday."

A shaky exhale. "No." Sal hunched over, looking very lost. "I want him. Just his scent on your clothes is driving me crazy. I can't possibly judge whether it's safe to let him in the vicinity of the children."

Oh. Yuriko rubbed her hands to keep them warm. "Really? He's… hairy."

Sal laughed. "That he is. You're not attracted to him at all?"

"I suppose he could clean up to be reasonably good looking," Yuriko admitted. "But… I very rarely am attracted to anyone." And that was, actually, still, mostly women.

"Huh. You know… before him, I thought maybe I had a bit of a crush on Jean-Paul, but that was nothing compared to this one." Sal got a far away look. "Victor."

Yuriko rolled her eyes.

"Just you wait. Some day, a dashing mutant will come along and swipe you off your feet. White horse and all."

Right.

xxx

And so it went. Getting any information out of Victor – born Victor Logan, alias Victor Creed – was an exercise in patience. After two months, Yuriko had those names, a vague date of birth in the 1830s, some hints of Victor having been in the US Civil War and working for some less than savory individuals until he joined up to serve in WW1 and got found out after being hit by a grenade and walking away from it, but not fast enough.

Sal was actually, after thinking it through, very pleased. "It means he has iron self control. Imagine, he's been sitting in cages for forty years now."

"I'd rather not," Yuriko said. Victor had missed forty years of history, and forty years of technological development. Going outside after all this time would overwhelm him for sure.

"Anyhow." Sal attempted another ill-fated smoke ring. "Prof buying that the reaction was a fluke?"

Yuriko nodded. "It will make for a boring paper. 'Subject reacts only vaguely to a human female's smell. Conclusion: it might be worthwhile to introduce a mutant female as permanent live-in fixture and see what happens.'"

Sal giggled. "He starts talking, is what happens."

"Well, they can't know that." Yuriko looked at the ground to hide the silliy smile she knew she was sporting. "At least, not yet."

xxx

Yuriko wrote her paper. After the exams were done in April, Sal went home for a short break, and cornered Emma one evening.

"I don't know," Emma said. "I'll drive down there – on Friday before Victoria Day. We can sneak in on Sunday night. The holiday should make for a worse police response, too."

Oh yes, yes. Still, Sal went for an offhand tone. "Sounds good."

"But I'm reserving my judgment. If I think he's too dangerous, he stays in that cage."

Sal sniffed, but let it go. Trying to convince Emma by wheedling wouldn't work – that lady lived up to her surname indeed. "Okay. But bring clothes, will you? Something fitting for a rough looking guy, seven foot tall, with wide shoulders."

Now, it was Emma's turn to sniff. "Why can't that Yuriko girl just sneak him a tape measure?"

"I told you she's done with the project." Sal rattled off what she remembered… "Shoulders about this wide." She demonstrated.

"He is big," Emma admitted. "And you sure did a lot of, hm, imagining in those forty five minutes."

Sal sighed. No sense in denying that.

"Love-struck fool." Emma reached out to ruffle her hair, as if she were that much older. "I'll see what I can do, Curly."

xxx

The ominous Emma Frost arrived in a pristine white car in front of Sal's dorm on Friday evening. Yuriko blinked at the figure climbing out, who was blond, hair coiffed within an inch of its life, and also dressed in all white. But, oh, what a figure, what a cute mouth. Yuriko wanted to look, and touch, and kiss.

Emma stared straight at her, and smiled. _Hello there, too, pretty lady._

Sal looked from Yuriko to Emma and back, and laughed. "See!", she crowed eventually. "Might not be a white horse, but at least it's a white car."

Yuriko nodded, dazed.

"Look, my lovelies, why don't you two come up to the dorm room, and have a drink while I take that ride to the hotel. And crash there."

Yuriko blinked. Huh.

Emma tilted her head. "That might be a little rushed, Curly. We'll stick to tonight's original plan and go eat out." _Easy does it, pretty lady. We'll have to get on for a long time to come._

xxx

The weekend passed altogether too fast and too slowly. Yuriko couldn't wait for finally having a chance to let Victor out, while every hour passing also meant one hour closer to Sunday night, and one hour closer to Emma leaving again.

Sal let them do sightseeing in peace on Saturday and Sunday, and, while they sat on a bench watching the English Bay, Emma held her hand. It was wonderful, and Yuriko wished she hadn't signed up for Summer Session.

_Don't,_ Emma sent. _Mutieville could use another ally with real credentials, and soon._

Yuriko sighed.

_There still is a break in August, isn't it. Make Curly dress nicely and introduce her to your parents._ Emma waggled her brows. _Make her invite you home for the holidays._

Yes.

xxx

And then, it was Sunday night. They arrived at the campus past ten, when it was full dark. Sal carried the bag with the clothes and assorted items, while Emma held both their hands, projecting the image of empty space to any passersby.

The building where they held Victor was dark save for one window – that was where the wardens usually sat, having an observation window to the room with the cage there, so they wouldn't have to content with the smell all the time.

The warden's office could be reached via a separate stairwell – one didn't have to cross the holding area. However, the main door was locked.

_Wonderful,_ Emma sent. _Now, for the plan…_

Yuriko took a deep breath and pushed the button for the door bell.

The warden opened his window. "What?"

"Um…" Another breath. "Mr. Jenkins, isn't it?"

"What? Come out where I can see you."

Yuriko stepped into the pale light falling from the window. Her purse felt slippery in her hands. "My name is Yuriko Oyama, Mr. Jenkins. I've been doing a project here."

"Yeah, I remember you. And?"

Now for the actual lie. She forced her wandering eyes back to the window, where he was a ghostly outline. "I, ah, seem to have misplaced something in the washroom here."

He snorted. "And you come here on Sunday night for this?"

Yuriko ducked her head. "Um. It's, ah… a bag of lady's health products."

The warden chuckled. "Be right down, missy."

Emma got him when he pushed the door open, and steered him upstairs, to where they kept the keys, then made him forget and sent him to sleep.

Thus, they hurried into the main area, where Victor stood in all his glory, arms crossed and waiting. "Lookit there," he said. "Three birds on such a night, and I didn't even need to throw a stone."

Sal managed to sniff, even though she looked like she wanted to drool over him. Emma just stared. Victor stared back for a long time.

"You are one piece of work, Victor Creed," Emma said finally.

"Never claimed any differently."

"I'd like to voice the agreement out loud." Emma steepled her hands. "You are going to come quietly to the safe house. You will not hurt anyone there, unless physically attacked, and you will not kill any of those living there, no matter what they did. You will teach everyone who wishes hand-to-hand combat. You will not speak of the community outside the community, and you will do everything in your power to keep the community a secret."

Victor nodded.

"In turn, we will provide you with shelter, secrecy, food, and any documents you might need."

Victor blinked, seemed to consider. His eyes flicked to Sal a few times while he did so. "Done."

"Welcome to Mutieville, then. Yuriko, if you would do the honors."

And so, Yuriko Oyama opened the cage and let Victor Creed out. Sal handed him the bag and he retreated to the washroom.

When he emerged half an hour later, Yuriko had to admit that he cleaned up even better than she'd expected, with now short hair, somewhat too big sideburns, and Emma's choice of clothes that was slightly too sophisticated for a logging town. "Dashing," she deadpanned.

He just grinned at her, then stalked over to where Sal was standing like a deer caught in headlights. For a while, they just had a smoldering stare down, then, finally, Victor grabbed Sal for a kiss that went on and on. He soon had her against the wall and his hands up her shirt.

_A little too… feral, for my taste, but hot, eh?,_ Emma sent.

Yuriko tore her gaze away from the sight and looked at Emma. Licked her lips in blatant invitation.

Emma closed the rest of the distance, and then it was a warm mouth on Yuriko's and it was bliss.

xxx

In the end, Sal was ready to loose her virginity right there on the floor, consequences be damned.

"It's getting on midnight, Curly," Emma interrupted. "We had better leave if we want a head start."

Sal tore herself from Victor. "Another time, then?"

"You bet. Curly?"

Sal grinned. "Curly. It's an apt description."

"Hmm."

And so, Emma left her and Yuriko in front of Sal's dorm, and took Victor to Mutieville.

Sal sighed. "I made a mistake signing up for those summer courses."

"Ditto," Yuriko said.

Sal giggled, and soon, they were hugging, both laughing helplessly, because, oh, to be young and in love, or at least, lust, and facing an entire summer without the people they wanted.

xxx

Emma took them up to Yale in record time, while Victor first wolfed down an entire pound of Marianne's home made deer jerky, then washed it down with two bottles of water. He burped, then said, "tell me what I'm seeing."

Emma got a sense that he meant everything, so she started with the car itself. This man, while not quite as fast on the uptake as Sal, Yuriko or herself, and somewhat lacking in empathy, made up for that with patience and a shrewd logic she could respect. So, she began her explanation, and added, "If you want details on how it works, and how to fix it, ask Scott or Forge."

In the relatively flat country past Lytton, when it slowly dawned, she gave Victor his first ever driving lesson. He proved rather adept at it, and when they had passed Kamloops without incident, she got two hours of much needed sleep, while the radio was softly playing Elvis and Johnny Cash.

xxx

Sal woke from a police siren and dragged herself out of bed to have a look as several dozen police cars sped past. It was barely full light outside. Another hour passed in which she dragged herself to the showers and made tea for breakfast, and then a police car stopped in the street outside, and a Mountie with a megaphone stepped out.

"A dangerous mutant has escaped last night. Please stay inside and keep all doors and windows closed at all times. Please switch on the radio for more detailed information."

Later, a couple officers came in and had a look at the dorm's basement. But obviously, Victor wasn't there.

Emma called the dorm around six in the afternoon from Mutieville. They'd arrived safely, and earlier than expected. She even let Victor on the phone for a bit, and Sal described the search so far. Victor rumbled a laugh. "They wouldn't have found me that way even if I'd been on foot."

"I bet."

"You do that. I'll collect on your break, Curly."

"Can't wait," Sal whispered back, and earned another chuckle for it.

xxx

Samuel Richardson knew this man of dubious sanity was to be his son-in-law when he heard him talking on the phone to Sal. Victor Creed lost some of his arrogance then, spoke lower, if not as tenderly as a normal person would to their lover. Well. Sal had brains enough, and so Victor would provide the brawn. There were certainly worse matches.

xxx

The next day, there were rumors at uni. Some private research lab must have stolen the mutant. There were also whispers of a mutant underground army, because, allegedly, they had found a message scratched into the washroom's wall. "I am Creed," it purportedly read, "because no matter how little else you believe, you better believe that I am out there."

"I didn't know he was literate," Yuriko whispered to Sal.

Sal just preened. That was her man.

xxx

On Wednesday, Yuriko had her first contact with the Mutant Control Board. A detective from the RCMP and a Mr. Silas of the Board had her pulled out of the microscopy course and ushered her into Professor Rivoir's office, which he'd lent for the occasion.

"Have a seat, Miss Oyama."

Yuriko sat, and had to force herself to be calm. They weren't investigating her personally, they couldn't be. They just were collecting hints as to who was responsible. Yuriko suddenly wished she'd added to Victor's supposed graffiti, something like Mutant Freedom Now, so they'd know what it had been about. Still, she felt her palms grow damp.

"We understand you did a small project with the escaped mutant?"

"Yes?" That came out a lot more squeaky than Yuriko had wanted to sound.

"Would you please describe it for us?"

Yuriko took a deep breath, and gave a short summary.

"So, you basically sat and watched it for a few hours per week for months."

"Yes?"

Mr. Silas frowned. "Were you ever approached by someone who wanted information on the mutant, or the layout of the building, or anything pertaining to security?"

"I did tell a few friends about the project," Yuriko said. "And my parents, of course. But I didn't talk to outsiders about the project, and I certainly didn't tell anyone about the security measures." After all, Sal had seen them for herself, and Emma had skimmed it off Yurikos's thoughts.

Mr. Silas nodded, still frowning, then fixed his gaze on her. Yuriko had to lean slightly back, because that stare made her skin crawl. If she made any one small mistake, this one would have her bagged, caged, and called an It, without so much as a by-your-leave.

She looked away and picked at the hem of her skirt.

"Are you sure you didn't notice anything odd, Miss Oyama?"

"No," Yuriko croaked, then cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, that wasn't phrased correctly. No, I did not notice anything out of the ordinary."

"What is Creed, Miss Oyama?"

Yuriko felt her mouth fall open and her heart stop for a beat. "You mean, the message everyone is talking about?" By goodness, she needed to look innocent, and they couldn't realize how her pulse was suddenly racing. Please.

Mr. Silas shot her an askance look, then nodded. "Very well. Here is my card, please call me if you remember anything else."

She took it and made a point of having a thorough look. "Of course, sir."

"We might also call on you if other questions arise. Do you have a phone number?"

Yuriko let him jot down her parent's number, and finally, she was free to go. Her first trip took her to the washroom, where she threw up her breakfast.

After classes were over, she found Sal. "I need something from your stash."

At the dorm, Sal poured her a finger of whiskey, which steadied Yuriko's trembling hands until she was home and safe. For now.

Not feeling so brave anymore, now that she'd looked the beast in the eye and found just another human doing their job and believing in it. How had she even gotten the idea to fight them in the first place?

Desperately, Yuriko wished Emma to be there. So, after dinner, she steeled herself, went to the nearest phone booth, and called the Frost household.

xxx

Emma made note of the agent's name and otherwise listened to Yuriko tell her about the questioning and made comforting noises. Yuriko was beautiful, inside and out, but she was more of a typical girl than even Louise. Kind, willing to help and to please, Yuriko was exactly what Emma needed to balance herself, but she was not cut out to be a spy. Yuriko would profit from some training in keeping calm in this kind of situation, and even though Sal and the Beaubier twins were quite different personalities, they'd need some lessons, too.

By freeing Creed, they had gone from civil disobedience to open warfare. The public just didn't know it yet.

"I was right to tell you to free him," Irene noted later. "We will profit from his experience."

"If it's a war, we need a name," Emma said. Mutant Liberation Front, or the Gene Guerilla, or something.


	4. Dogs of guerilla warfare

Part 4: Dogs of guerilla warfare

Summer passed for Yuriko in a flurry of classes and trying to get her parents to warm up to Sal, who went by her full name for those occasions, and presented herself in sensible skirts, blouses, and cardigans to the Oyama household. Also, she left the cigarettes at home and braided her hair.

Eventually, Mrs. Oyama insisted to have Sal over for dinner, where Sal was thoroughly questioned, which Yuriko found rather embarrassing. Sal did admirably, though, fudging details, calling Victor a steady boyfriend with the military who had made noises about proposing soon.

"I'm hoping he will be stationed somewhere where I will be able to do something with my degree," Sal added to the lie, staring into her glass of water, as if wistful. "My father is spending a lot of money on it, and it would be wrong to waste that by becoming a house-wife."

A nod from Yuriko's father.

"Biology seems such a dry subject for a woman, though," her mother said.

Sal smiled. "Personally, I find it fascinating. Just imagine, if we'd find the code for what makes plants grow in certain conditions, we might be able to stop world hunger." There was an enthusiastic glint in Sal's eyes, and Yuriko wondered what she was thinking about to muster it.

Yuriko's parents smiled in response.

"Well," Yuriko's mother said when Sal had left. "She seems sensible." For a white girl, she didn't have to add. "I didn't think someone from so far north would be so well-spoken and mannered, either." Yuriko's father didn't share his opinion, but he'd listened to Sal, which was a good sign. High praise, indeed, from both sides.

Sal and Yuriko had a giggle over a bit of celebratory whiskey the next night.

Sal extended her invitation of a two week vacation up north the next time she was over at Yuriko's house. In Sal's presence, Mrs. Oyama had no way but to agree tentatively. However, she said, her husband would have to phone Mr. Richardson first. Yuriko wasn't privy to that conversation, but Mr. Richardson had apparently managed to put her parents at ease.

Obviously, she only spent a couple days in Mutieville, before being snatched up by Emma. Sal was thoroughly engrossed with Victor, who had filled out to fit his frame, and was now a walking mountain of muscle.

Emma had taken unpaid leave for those two weeks, to show Yuriko the sights, such as they were. They went on long walks on the logging trails, where Yuriko remembered her love of climbing trees, and in the night, they sat on Emma's couch, kissing.

Heat built up, until, after a few days, she couldn't bear it anymore, and invited herself to Emma's bed.

xxx

Sal and Victor packed a tent, a couple of blankets, preventatives supplied by Emma, and went roaming the woods for a week. They walked, and hunted, and had surprisingly silent sex. Sal talked, and eventually, Victor talked back, about his half brother, their flight, roughing it until Victor looked old enough to find work. They'd sworn to stick together, but Jimmy liked people more than Victor did, so Victor hadn't insisted on leaving the cities. It was hard, because more than Jimmy, he lived for the hunt.

Sal scratched his neck and vowed to never make him live in a big city again.

xxx

Two nights before Yuriko and Sal were supposed to leave again, Emma had asked Mr. Richardson to call a meeting. Emma surveyed the ragtag group crowding the Richardson kitchen, and wasn't entirely as positive as Irene that this were the beginnings of an army.

Sal was a planner, and useful both as a spy and sniper, but no use in close combat. Yuriko might be, if she ever learned how to fight.

Emma needed to be close to a subject to work her telepathy, but was not built to be of use in hand-to-hand.

As opposed to that, Victor Creed was a close combat weapon if she'd ever seen one, but no team player, and skirting a diagnosis as a sadist. After years of suffering, he obviously took great satisfaction in dealing out pain himself. His mind hadn't quite left the cage yet – Emma had peeked enough to see that he sometimes woke in the night and suspected it all to be a dream. The trick was to keep him occupied, and have Sal voice disappointment every time he acted out.

Scott was the ultimate long-range fighter. Jean-Paul and Jeanne-Marie would be useful in actual fights, too.

Irene obviously could work only behind the scenes, as could Louise and Forge.

Janos with his tornadoes was another long-range fighter, but also refused to speak. He could, Emma knew, but whatever he had suffered in one Sebastian Shaw's facility had made him choose muteness. She'd been tempted to pry, but Louise and Irene both had cautioned her against it. Janos would start talking once he felt safe.

Likewise, twelve year old Bradley coped by fidgeting, and spooked easily, a fact Victor relished in. Bradley was live wire in every sense of the word, he'd already imploded the television once.

John, the teleporter who had managed to get out and take those two with him, was also the one with the least scars. However, his range wasn't all that good, and he disliked teleporting into places he couldn't see.

Last arrived Fred Dukes, who was strong, but not much of a team player either. He did the hunting for the group, staying away whole days at a time, because his two major interests, willing women and sports, were hard to come by in Mutieville. Emma had a feeling he wouldn't be able to stay much longer before the road called to him.

Everyone else was too young to do any fighting, and therefore, not invited.

When Fred had glared Victor into making room for him on the bench, Emma cleared her throat. Good thing she'd chosen to stand. "This is a strategy meeting."

Nods.

"We all know that we wish to bring about change – most of us would like to live closer to civilization, with no fear of being treated like a rabid dog, or a lab rat, once people find out we are mutants. We wish to be safe."

More nods.

"We need to be recognized as people by the law," Sal said.

"Obviously." Emma crossed her arms. "But how do we do this?"

"We already are doing a good job at infiltrating," Sal began. "You, Jeanne-Marie, Jean-Paul. Yuriko will be a medical doctor, and I was planning to worm my way into the Mutant Control Board."

"Even while our people suffer and die," Louise whispered. "You told us about it yourself: There are more mutant births now than even ten years ago. All those dead babies."

Trust Louise to mention babies. Sal sighed. Emma refrained from rolling her eyes, because, "We can't be everywhere, you know that. I suggest we take two approaches."

Sal tilted her head. "You mean, besides the infiltration, we should put together a strike team."

Whispers. Jean-Paul and Victor looked interested, as did Fred, John, and Scott.

Emma raised an eyebrow, which was enough to ensure silence. "Obviously, the main operation is this retreat. However, Louise, I know you're up to capacity with babies and toddlers."

Louise frowned, but didn't contradict this estimate. "We need more adults willing to look after small children, I know that." To her credit, she didn't glare at anyone for this. Victor and Fred didn't have the patience, Irene was blind, and Emma, Sal and the twins were needed outside.

"So, a strike team to find and bring in more adults…" Sal mused. "We'd have to target smaller facilities and transports first."

"Looking forward to that." Victor grinned. "And you sure as hell aren't going to be on the strike team, kitty."

Sal looked ready to protest.

"We need you and Yuriko to finish your studies." Emma fixed the little busybody with a glare. "We need certified experts once we are ready for the big reveal, or if circumstances force our hand. Victor, they could explain away with someone wanting a research subject. If the pattern continues, they won't buy that anymore."

"They'd truly suspect guerilla warfare?" Jean-Paul raised his brows. "Or maybe, rather, the Soviets, or other enemies?"

Hmm. Emma wouldn't admit she wasn't sure, and Irene remained silent on the matter.

"We should keep them in the dark as long as possible," Sal said. "It would be better if they didn't know who they were fighting. Let them use up resources spying on the Russians, eh?"

"And here I was looking forward to be part of a terrorist organization with its own name," Emma deadpanned.

Jahn leaned forward, put his elbows on the kitchen table. "We could still have a name."

In his and Yuriko's head, Emma saw the suggestions bubble, some close to her own ideas, and headed her off. "We can. I suggest everyone think about it, and we put it to vote on Thanksgiving."

Nods.

"Now, on to more practical matters. Who is going to be on the strike team, how do they move…"

Fred and Victor volunteered, so did John, Jean-Paul, Scott, and, surprisingly, Bradley. Emma wasn't going to tell the latter two they were too young. After everything, they had a right to fight. Yet, none of them were officer material except Scott, even though Jean-Paul might grow into it.

"Emma should be team leader," Jean-Paul said.

Oh. Well. It was Emma or Scott, and Scott was thirteen.

The men eyeballed each other, then looked at Emma, slightly guilty like schooboys who'd dared to question a teacher's authority.

"Seconded," John said.

"Ditto," added Bradley.

"Me, too," said Scott.

Fred and Victor didn't offer a vote, but didn't suggest anyone else, so Emma skimmed their thoughts and just decided to prove them wrong.

Forge shifted his weight. "I've thought about the next question. Logistics."

"Go on."

"Bradley, do you think you could fly a plane?"

Huh. Emma blinked, and even Irene looked like she hadn't seen that coming.

"Fancy thought there, Mr. Robot," Victor began. "But where do we get a fucking plane?"

Forge offered him a withering glare. "Scott can help me build one. One with vertical take off and landing. We've been talking about it."

The rest of the group looked too stunned to interrupt.

"Well," Emma began. "No building planes yet." How much would that cost, anyhow? "Bradley? Do you think you could?"

The boy shrugged. "Can we try with a car first?"

xxx

Sal and Yuriko left for the Winter Session, both with heavy hearts, and yet determined to get their degrees in record time.

Three weeks in, Emma called to say that Bradley could indeed drive a car with his powers, and she now would be busy buying airplane parts. Sal and Yuriko got as drunk as their mutations let them the following Saturday night, celebrating.

Thanksgiving was upon them in a blink, it seemed. They got onto the bus on Friday afternoon, and Bradley, Emma and Victor acted as welcoming committee, fetching them from the stop in the electrical car early on Saturday morning. If anyone saw, and thought it odd that a young teen was steering a car while a big man in the passenger seat had a girl in his lap, and a couple of women were making out in the back, they never said anything.

xxx

There was a feast, and a discussion about their name.

Liberation Front, Freedom Fighters, even Emma's ridiculous Gene Guerilla was argued about, until Louise couldn't stand it any more, and set her cup won on the table. "Ain't we going about this from the wrong angle?"

Sal gestured for her to explain.

"I been thinking. Yes, we want rights, and freedom, but we ain't planning to scare innocent people, right? Something like Irene's "Mutants Are Persons League", MAPLe, only that this would sound a bit too much like the sports team, right? Also, we want to make it clear that this is a group of mutants doing the fighting. We don't want to sound like a bunch of normal humans fighting for mutants."

"Hmm," Sal agreed, and Emma nodded along.

"Ideas?"

And that was how the North American Mutants Association came into being.

xxx

Forge and Scott worked on the plane until well into spring 1961, while Sal was finishing her bachelor degree and prepared for a summer at home, and Yuriko was throwing herself into another Summer Session's work.

Yuriko traveled north for Victoria Day to see the test flight, well, hovering, which went off without a hitch, until Victor snuck up on Bradley to growl into the poor boy's ear.

The plane crashed, albeit only from five feet.

Next to Yuriko, Scott sighed, world weary. "No real test flight tonight, then," he said. "Sal, make sure you hit Victor over the head for me."

Yuriko watched Sal wrinkle her nose and knew she wouldn't do any such thing, even if Victor would let her.

"You repair the plane," Sal said. "Victor will have to work with Bradley on his startle response. Again."

xxx

Sal added to this setback by confessing to being knocked up four weeks later.

Emma wanted to slap the little idiot, but Sal looked reasonably devastated already, and you didn't hit women, especially not ones carrying Victor Creed's baby. To add insult to injury, that insufferable man strutted about as if impregnating his girlfriend were a feat comparable to climbing Mount Everest or winning a Nobel Prize. Anyway, Louise had already shouted at Sal, and Samuel Richardson refused to speak to his daughter, so Emma took vicarious satisfaction in that.

Given the circumstances, Sal wouldn't be able to get an in with the Mutant Control Board, because she'd never even have the master's degree they expected from applicants. Everything hinged on Yuriko now, and, after some conferring, Emma decided to move west, the better to support her lover. A big city was also a better place to open a business than the town she'd lived in for the past six years. Frost Enterprises had a nice ring to it, she thought.

Irene wasn't happy to have to give up the comfortable house and move to Mutieville, but she took it with her usual stoic mien. After all, Irene knew what it all meant, even if she wouldn't tell anyone, for fear of influencing their decisions too much.

It also meant Jean-Paul had to take over leading the still inactive strike team.

xxx

Three days in, Sal couldn't take the hostility anymore, so Victor and she went on another long hike. The first few hours, they just walked, until they found a small clearing upstream, where an old pine had fallen.

"You're not all that unhappy about the cub." Vic plopped down on the rotting trunk.

Sal shook her head, sat down beside him and rubbed her back. Only a few weeks in, and already the child was eating her strength. But she wasn't unhappy at all. A baby! And one from Victor, too, after all the failed attempts by the scientists. "You and my career plans clashed something awful."

He grinned, a satisfied gleam in his eyes. "You're no city dweller, either."

"No, I'm not." There was no question she could have overcome that preference, of course. Sal was certain she could learn anything.

For a while, she listened to the wind rustle the trees; Shadow Creek gurgled, and birds were digging through the undergrowth for insects.

"I'm going to build a cabin for us," Vic said. "I'd marry you, if it were possible."

Really. Sal raised her brows. "You wouldn't have to, even if it were possible."

"Okay."

It was probably her imagination, but she smelled his relief that she didn't insist on a formal commitment. Neither of them was big on propriety, anyway, and forever was a damn long time, if you were a hundred and thirty, and counting. Sal sighed. Now to the next item with capacity to explode on her. "They'll expect me to help feeding at least one other kid, like Louise did with Remy."

"And?"

"What?"

"So the cub will have a... a milk-brother." He grinned. "Milk-sibling, anyway. We can take one or two more."

Right. We. Sal stared her lover down. "I won't make you change them," bad idea with the claws, anyway, "but you are going to help."

Vic stared back. "I'm going to try."

Well. Sal supposed she couldn't ask more from someone who made a point to evade everyone younger than five.

xxx

The summer of '61 passed in a flurry of activity. Emma and Irene needed help moving, Vic and Sal built their cabin with Fred's help. The plane was repaired, and finally taken for a test flight by Bradley and Victor – anyone else wouldn't have survived a crash.

However, Bradley wasn't a natural pilot, so guerilla missions were put off further.

Late in August, one Kayla Silverfox came trudging their way as per Emma's direction – she was also Emma's older half-sister. The US Department for Sub-Human Affairs had never found out about her, so she had an actual teaching degree under her belt, and helped set up something more like an actual school and lesson plans, while the men busied themselves building a place that could serve as school and meeting room. Just a one-story, one room affair, but well, it made things a little more official. They had a grand opening party on the last weekend of September, during which Scott and Jacob revealed a sign for the building saying, "Mutieville Town Hall and Education Center".

Rounds of applause, cheering, cat-calling, and Louise's face tear stained from laughing so hard. "Lord, I wish we had a camera."

Sal stopped clapping and blinked. Fucking hell. There was something to contribute, wasn't there, even if she'd never earn more than that bachelor in biology.

xxx

Emma brought the supplies and textbooks Sal had requested on her trip north on Thanksgiving, then sat her down and had a long talk.

In effect, the idea wasn't stupid at all, provided Sal took some precautions for security's sake.

xxx

Serena Victoria Richardson was born on Valentine's Day 1962, an obvious mutant for her eyes, which were an inky black. She gained a milk-sister a good six weeks later, a girl with lilac skin named Clarice by her distraught mother.

The first actual rescue mission with the plane went on in June and brought an eleven year old Ivy Leage offshoot called Jean Grey. She'd been heavily sedated so she wouldn't use her telekinetic powers, while the police were awaiting the DSHA's judgment of whether she was useful enough to live.


	5. Places to go, people tp see

Part 5: Places to go, people to see

That same year, Henry McCoy finished his master thesis in physics, read an article about weaponized mutants in WWII, and also an article about telepathic mutants. His mind began to whirr away – what if humanity could harness such power?

So, instead of pursuing his doctorate right away, he decided to take a detour via biology and engineering.

While Mutieville continued to grow, and while the CIA was busy trying to figure out just how and why someone, presumably the Soviets, collected random sub-humans in the US, Canada and Mexico, Henry McCoy first proposed the Searchlight project to the Department of Sub-Human Affairs.

The idea was met with much enthusiasm – to think, if one could employ a telepathic mutant to find others of its kind. There would be no more out-of-control, manifesting K-type mutants to frighten the public, and no more M-type mutants would be able to escape notice. If one dared to dream, it might even be possible to deprive the USSR of mutants whose powers could be weaponized, even before the Soviets got wind of them. Obviously, McCoy had no idea about the random disappearances, but the higher ups hoped to prevent more losses.

The Department for Sub-Human Affairs provided funding, as did the CIA, and several weapons manufacturers jumped the bandwagon. Henry McCoy was granted use of GBR-M-00001, an exceedingly powerful telepath, whose loss Berkeley protested, but obviously had no leverage against.

xxx

Yuriko's mother had started making sounds about marriage around Yuriko's twenty first birthday in October 1962, and henceforth saw fit to introduce Yuriko to a wide variety of men, sometimes by making sure they would run into the candidate in question accidentally on purpose, sometimes blatantly inviting whole families to dinner.

As per Emma's advice, Yuriko did some subtle engineering of her own to put possible suitors off. She started smoking, and made sure to use small amounts of whiskey instead of perfume. She talked about how lovely the Rocky Mountains were, and how she imagined spending her life there.

Once free of internship, three years later, and with no fiancé yet, she applied to a clinic in Grande Prairie, was hired, and finally prepared to move out.

Her mother cried for days, and Yuriko tried the best to console her – it wasn't anyone's fault that Yuriko had turned out how she'd turned out, after all. Yuriko's father was silent on the matter, but apparently understood that this had been a long time coming. He wished her luck, said he'd pray for her, and that he hoped she'd be happy.

xxx

Qualified medical personnel was hard to come by in remote places, so nobody said anything when Yuriko and Emma moved back into the old house in autumn 1965, and didn't even officially declare themselves roommates, or some such.

Yuriko came home to Emma every night, and it was, while totally domestic, still happiness. Truly, her job provided her with excitement enough – hunting and work accidents together with anything an average general practitioner had to do. And if that wasn't enough, she could, and had to, spend her days off in Mutieville. Victor was determined to whip her into fighting shape, and turned out to be a passable instructor.

Sometimes, she and Emma would go out, to have hamburgers at the diner, or a drink at the dive that passed for a bar in their part of town. That bar sometimes had illegal boxing matches in their basement – Emma enjoyed those immensely, and Yuriko, while she hated the violence, at least could appreciate men fighting shirtless.

On one such evening, in August 1966, there was a new competitor, who went by Wolverine.

_Mutie,_ Emma said, _and a little damaged. I can't get any biographical reads._

_Amnesia?_ Poor sod. Yuriko stopped ogling the man's shoulders. _Do you think we should talk to him? Offer him a place?_

_Hmm._ Emma tilted her head. _That, and maybe breakfast at ours._ _Look at those jeans, I bet he's hung._

Yuriko had to think about the implication for a second, but her mind offered no objections. _He has nice eyes, too. Very soulful._

_He'll be ready to listen to us by morning, _Emma said. Her hand found its way to Yuriko's thigh, kneading it und betraying the anticipation the telepath felt.

However, the Wolverine, who introduced himself as Logan, was gone by sunrise, having sidled out so silently sometime during the night that neither Yuriko nor Emma had any clue as to when he had left.

A pity, but one couldn't help every drifter, and he seemed to be doing, while not well, at least good enough to keep himself fed and clothed.

xxx

Yuriko told Sal and Victor about Logan during her next lesson in Mutieville. Victor grew progressively quieter during her tale. He was leaning against a tree and for all the world looked like a sad mountain lion. "This tall, hmm? Brown hair sticking up every which where?"

Victor knew that man? Yuriko raised her brows. "Yes."

"Describe his eye color."

'Soulful' wouldn't work here, and earn her a scoff for being too girly to boot. "I'm not entirely sure. Not too dark, not quite green, but… hazel?"

"Got to be Jimmy. You said he didn't have a car?"

And so Victor Creed took one of the trucks and went after his little brother.

xxx

Vic returned a week later to Sal and the girls, and didn't speak for hours, obviously mulling something over.

Only in the middle of the night, when they'd both woken from a sudden rain shower, did he talk, head resting over Sal's heart, as if he had to reassure himself that she was still there.

"He didn't recognize me," Vic said. "He was ready to fight, so I left." A minute of silence. "How can you forget about your big brother?"

Sal scratched behind his ears, ran her fingers through his hair, but unlike other times, he was too upset to start purring. "I don't know. Maybe a telepath could induce a memory loss like that?"

Vic breathed out, not quite noisily enough for it to be an actual sigh. "I don't want to think about what has to happen to a person to get amnesia like that."

No. Sal didn't want to imagine, either.

xxx

Searchlight began operating in earnest in June 1967.

Charles honestly didn't want to help his captors – those people who referred to him as M1, and who sometimes called him an it – but if he didn't cooperate, they used those shock collars on the others. He would never get used to see his sister Raven – "You-Twennie" – or Erik – "Dew-Kay" – or any of the kids cringe under the electrical currents.

And so, Doctors McCoy and MacTaggart had him, helpless, powerless, and even after nearly thirty years spent in cages of varying size, Charles wasn't used to that. He refused getting used to it.

Still, sometimes Charles managed not to do what they wanted him to do, strapped into that metal globe with a helmet on his head, and he even found minds that offered conversation.

The first one was a storm of red and golden flame, flitting about his consciousness like a curious bird.

_Hello!,_ it said. _You're bright. You're way brighter than Emma._

_You are very bright yourself. And I like your colors._ So warm, almost like the sun on a summer day.

A giggle. _Thank you. My adopted mom says I'm bright, too. _An impish smile. _Says I could be a doctor._

_Does she?_ Charles barely remembered his mother, though he was sure she had never praised him.

_Oh._ The presence stopped its movement to hover. _You are in a dreadful place._

_Yes. I have been locked away for a long time. I'm sorry._

_Why are you apologizing? It wasn't your idea. I'm going to tell Emma and Mom about you. They can break you out._

Charles would have blinked if he hadn't closed his eyes as soon as the helmet went on. _That is very nice, but, little one, I would prefer to break myself out._

She continued her flitting. _You do that. Gotta go now. Bye, Charles._

The other presence was a white, fractured cold light like from a broken mirror. _So, that is you. Jean told me a story about a periwinkle blue sun, you see._

Ah. _You are Emma._

_Yes. We could get you out, you know. We have some practice at rescuing mutants._

Charles beheld images – a little aircraft steered by a young man with his mind alone, another man flying beside the plane. Two bigger men, strong melee fighters, who still couldn't hold a candle against a slip of a girl. A black man who was there and then not. A boy, barely teenaged, who made things explode. A silent young man who commanded the wind, another who shot red beams from his eyes, and a red head who had to be Jean.

_Bradley,_ Emma supplied. _Jean-Paul, Fred, Victor, Carol. John, Lucas, Janos, Scott._

_Impressive._ Charles' hands curled, his nails digging into his palms until it hurt. Mutants, and free, and proud. How he yearned to be one of those. And yet. _I would prefer to not need rescuing. I have a strong group here myself, we just need to get ourselves organized._

_Of course._ A low chuckle that didn't fit the cool presence. _I can appreciate wishing to be the prince, not the damsel in distress. But you know where to find me, even if you just want to talk._

Other times, Charles had no way of leading the scientists on wild goose chases, no way of not doing what he was told.

_I truly am sorry, Logan,_ he told the man with the confused mind who roamed the Yukon Territory. _I shall tell Emma about you._

He never did get a chance to tell her, though, because on August 5th, a rookie scientist made a mistake, and Erik destroyed the Searchlight apparatus.

Charles lost use of his legs in the incident. They took Erik away, and for a while, Charles was sure the scientists would kill his beloved.

When they finally let Erik back to stay in the main enclosure, Charles read in Doctor McCoy's mind that he really didn't have the authority, that the board hadn't decided yet whether Erik would live.

And that was when Charles decided they needed to act now.

They escaped in the wee morning hours of August 31st, after Charles had left both proof of sentience, and managed to lure Doctor McCoy into a trap by doing so. And then they were outside, finally. The fresh air smelling of the coming fall, and a breeze the first time in decades.

Charles, from his perch on Erik's back, kept his mind out to distract anyone awake, and, when they finally were safe in the dark spot behind the boiler room, where the mission bin was, he concentrated.

_Emma!_ he called. _Jean? We could use a lift out of this place._

Unfortunately, it was the middle of the night, and both were asleep.

Charles found an empty building where they could hide out, until he reached Emma just after dawn. Emma said they would come in the night, but that the plane would need space to land without being noticed.

Thankfully, Erik got it together enough to destroy the fine circuitry in the collars and remove them. And then, they walked, earing a few glances only for the two black persons in their group, westward out of the city, where there were fewer minds. Charles provided cover so Raven, Alex, Armando and Sean could steal food.

In the night, the silent plane arrived, with Bradley, Emma, and Victor for muscle.


	6. Reclamations

Part 6: Reclamations

Hank didn't rise when Moira approached his spot in the sanatorium's library, and continued to stare outside. It was October now, a fine drizzle going down, everything looking as gray as his life now was.

No, this wasn't an enclosure like the one that had held the NA-01 mutant group, but it was a cage nevertheless. That saying about golden cages, Hank understood it now. Days passed with nothing to do, no challenges to occupy his mind, because it was either plead insanity, or become a test subject. And all for a bit of malformed toes and some unusual muscle strength.

"Hello, Hank," Moira finally spoke up. "I've brought some Twinkies for you."

Hank sighed and turned to her. "Thank you." He knew he'd give the sweets to the nurses. Everything tasted like ashes to him, nowadays, even his one time favorite treat.

Moira put a brightly wrapped box on the table, then sank onto the other chair, uninvited. "I, ah, I've been invited to speak at the first Berkeley Conference for Mutant Behavioral Research. Last weekend of November."

Hank nodded.

"I'm going to give a talk about what can be learned from the Great Escape."

Nothing to do but nod again.

"I see you're not interested."

Hank wasn't going to take such an obvious bait. "I don't see how this is going to change anything."

That earned him a tight smile. "Don't they say that even the longest journey starts with a small step?"

Well. "It's not like you to parrot clichés like that." Motivational bullshit, all of it, making one hope when there was no reason.

Moira sighed. She sat with him for a while longer, but thankfully she didn't try to start up a conversation again. He didn't wish to be reminded of the outside. He didn't wish to be reminded of the anger, bubbling, always bubbling, deep under the surface. Hank knew what they did to noisy patients. Better to keep quiet of his own accord.

xxx

Sal entered the Mutieville town hall last, letting her bundle of scientific literature drop on the table.

On Emma's left side, Charles Xavier flinched.

To Sal's credit, she shot him an apologetic smile before beginning to speak. "So. Good evening, gentlemutants. You've been called here because we're going to make our first public move in late November."

Everyone around Emma perked up. A motley group, yes, and if anyone had told her about it on the day she'd escaped with Scott, she would have called them deluded. Yet, here they were: Sal, Yuriko, Irene, Jeanne-Marie and Jean-Paul, Charles with his crutches, Louise, Fred, Forge, Victor, John, and Scott, who'd grown into a handsome man and was courting Jean. Emma couldn't help but be proud that she provided the funding for this operation.

"There will be a conference about mutant behavior in Berkeley," Sal said.

Victor snorted and thus voiced what everyone thought about the subject.

"I've studied the speakers who were invited, and they're overall condescending, but a few don't seem to be total bigots, going by their articles. Emma has already secured two seats for Frost Enterprises, pretending to be thinking about funding mutant research. Now, we need to decide who is going, besides Emma, and what they will do."

It took an hour to outline a plan. However, Charles was reluctant. "You did the maths," he eventually appealed to Sal.

True, and Sal did look flattered.

"Wait," Emma said. "We will need to convince a bunch of white men."

"They ain't gonna listen to a Latina or an Asian woman," Louise summarized.

"They aren't going to listen to women, at all," Emma said. Bigots. Besides, haters usually lumped everything together, and those who were racists usually also thought women lower beings.

Charles sighed, but nodded his agreement. "I remember how much trouble they gave Dr. MacTaggart, compared to the male scientists."

xxx

Much to Emma's surprise, Dr. MacTaggart presented a truthful account of the events at Searchlight to the assembled scientists, and made a move to declare mutants sentient beings who deserved civil rights.

The audience was not amused, old school researchers and the military fearing losing their profits and boons, journalists fearing public opinion, some fearing seeing their own doubts and bad consciences being voiced by MacTaggart, and absolutely everyone afraid of the backlash if mutants ever would be allowed out in the wild, and realize what had been done to their kind.

_Even I can smell their fear,_ Yuriko sent to Emma.

_They hate what they fear,_ Charles supplied from outside_. And they fear what they cannot understand._

_They never tried to actually understand, Xavier,_ Emma retorted, and felt his glee at being called not only by name, but by surname. For him, it had to be gratifying to be treated like a slightly obnoxious colleague instead of a lab rat.

MacTaggart eventually had to flee the press and vanished backstage.

_Xavier, keep your mind on her. I want to know what the others back there say._

_Like I needed to be told,_ he replied, and retreated, only leaving his smile behind, like the Cheshire Cat.

Emma and Yuriko stayed, enduring the final talk of the day about how one Colonel Stryker of the US military hoped to finally get CAN-P-00001 under control, so the metallic reinforcements they had placed on his skeleton would finally pay off.

_God,_ Emma heard Yuriko's thoughts on repeat, like a record with a scratch, _by everything that's holy, he is talking about Logan._

Emma took her hand, and squeezed. _We'll see about Vic's little brother once this weekend is done._

xxx

Yuriko wanted to strangle that colonel right there on the podium. Returning to the hotel suite didn't make her feel any better – Charles, Erik and Victor were waiting for them, all of them antsy, though Charles hid it best, sitting there on the couch, leaning on his cane, looking for all the world like some English gentleman.

"Dr. MacTaggart is going to have dinner with Professor Johan Gottschalk of Hamburg University," Charles said when they all had settled down. "I move we approach them both tonight. Professor Gottschalk is scheduled to give his talk tomorrow, so there might be time to smuggle in the evidence." Charles got a faraway look in his eyes. "I will also be able to spy on my nephew more closely that way."

They wouldn't find an audience more sympathetic than this, so Yuriko said, "seconded."

"Thirded," Emma deadpanned. "So let's get this show on the road."

They did, once Charles calmed Erik enough to stay behind. For such a tall man, and with the kind of power he wielded, he was awfully clingy, refusing to let go of Charles's hand, much less letting his lover out of his sight. Unpredictable, too, and not in the good way, at least if you were an ally of his.

Yuriko had to admit that Emma was correct about them providing a show of sorts. Emma in her flashy white sheath dress and sparkly high heels, Victor in a rippling black leather coat, Yuriko in a dark gray pant suit loose enough for high roundhouse kicks, and Charles in s brown tweed suit with a blue shirt that brought out the color of his eyes.

In all actuality, neither Emma nor she expected to need Victor's muscle, but he was, as opposed to the rest of of them, semi-obvious. Also, he made a convenient driver, who didn't startle when Charles was projecting directions. Victor fulfilled his role perfectly as he drove them to the Italian restaurant where MacTaggart and Gottschalk had their meeting; he even opened the car doors for everyone with the flourishes of an overenthusiastic bellhop.

Emma held out her arm for Yuriko to take, and the two men followed them inside. It was a bit of a pity that Charles made everyone not notice, as they approached the table in the back where the two researchers were, according to Charles, currently waiting for their desserts.

Dr. MacTaggart did look up eventually, and frowned at Emma and Yuriko. Probably she remembered them from earlier, as Emma had introduced herself during the mid-morning coffee break.

Emma made them stop and said, "Professor Gottschalk, Doctor MacTaggart."

"Miss Frost. And Dr. Oyama, wasn't it." MacTaggart didn't seem too amused. "Fancy meeting you here."

Emma offered a smile. "Not at all. My associates and I would like to talk to you and the professor."

"Do you, now." MacTaggart raised her brows, while Gottschalk looked on somewhat puzzled, but not yet mistrustful.

"Indeed we do," Charles said, and finally limped his way out of his hiding place behind Victor. "Hello."

MacTaggart looked, blinked. "Fucking hell." And stared some more, while growing paler by the second.

Gottschalk cleared his throat. "Excuse me. I assume you know this gentleman, Moira?"

Yuriko didn't look, fighting hard to hide her grin, but she heard Charles' genial smile. "In a manner of speaking, though I can testify that we never did have an actual conversation. Isn't that right?"

"You're walking. You are not real," MacTaggart said.

Gottschalk frowned. "Why don't you all have a seat, and we can, er, figure this out in peace."

"Don't," MacTaggart said faintly.

Another smile from Emma, doing her surname proud. "I'm afraid we will have to ignore your protests, Doctor. You showed a lot more courage during your presentation this afternoon." With a wave of Emma's hand, Victor went and pulled out chairs for all of them, before sitting down on one himself.

All the while, Gottschalk leaned to MacTaggart, and whispered, "who are these people?"

"Em-One," MacTaggart whispered back, "this is Em-One."

Gottschalk stared, and finally seemed to notice Victor's claws. "Tod und Teufel," he muttered.

"Sorry to disappoint." Victor's grin showed his fangs. "But I'm neither the devil nor the grim reaper."

Yuriko wanted to ask where he'd learned German, and why he'd never told anyone about it before, but Emma interrupted. "Allow me to introduce my companions. Medical doctor Yuriko Oyama. Mr. Charles Francis Xavier, who also had to go by GBR-M-00001 for a significant portion of his life. And here is Canada P 2. Also known as Victor."

"Creed," Victor supplied on cue.

MacTaggart blinked, Gottschalk leaned towards them. There was a gleam in his eyes, betraying only curiosity and no fear at all. Amazing. "You left that message in Vancouver."

"Obviously."

"You had the scientific community in quite the uproar," Gottschalk said.

Victor showed his fangs. "That was the point. They all forgot I could hear them talking in the next room."

"Oh."

"Well, as fun as that is," Emma began. "Have you now been able to suspend your disbelief, Doctor?"

MacTaggart focused on Emma. "You're all mutants."

"There's even more where we came from," Yuriko said. "We are the ambassadors, for now."

"But…"

"You don't want to finish that sentence, Doctor," Charles said. "But I'm aware that not all of us are as… fluffy as Doctor McCoy."

"You are fluffy, Charles," Emma said.

Not at all, Yuriko wanted to say. This man looks like some silly lapdog, but he's a wolf alright. "The point is," Yuriko interrupted the pointless bickering. "Yes, we can do things other people can't do. Yet, here are Charles and Emma, who could drive me insane, and Victor, who could rip me to shreds, and they haven't done so. Many of the ones I know could have killed our entire community in their beds, but we are all alive still. There are humans in our community, and none of them ever were injured by a mutant." Not counting little Serena being overenthusiastic and forgetting her claws while playing with her grandpa. "Very few of us lash out just for the hell of it."

MacTaggart seemed to have composed herself. She straightened and crossed her arms. "Go on." Willing to listen to Yuriko, of all people. Obviously her doctorate had more heft than skin color or gender to that one.

"We need the world to see that we are persons. None of us expect the world to be too welcoming at first, but they won't have a choice but to notice us. I wonder if you are aware of the numbers of mutants killed per year?"

"Vaguely," MacTaggart said.

Yuriko hadn't known, either, but Emma had found someone to bribe on Sal's behest. "When the Department for Sub-Human Affairs was established in 1925, they were alerted to 265 births of assumed mutants, of which only fifteen were kept for research. Last year they had to assess ten thousand and three hundred fifty four newborns. One hundred and thirty were kept for research, and fifty were declared false positives." One had to be careful not to think about that too closely, but Yuriko gave the scientists time to let it sink in and do the ugly maths. "That is a lot, and we have reason to believe the numbers will rise more. In short, there will come a time when there will be so many children born mutants that it will be impossible to kill them all without damaging the population as a whole."

Nods. MacTaggart cleared her throat. "I had no idea. I mean, I assume we just thought people were reporting more…" She shook her head.

"Another associate of mine is versed in statistical analyses, and believes that influence is minimal," Emma said. "You people are waging a war against your own future."

"I'm not," MacTaggart muttered, flushing. "I just wanted to understand."

Charles leaned forward. "A lot of you do, but it's the same kind of curiosity that makes people pin up butterflies with needles. The same kind of curiosity with which one Doctor Mengele tried to find out how long it takes until a human being dies of exposure, or starves to death."

Gottschalk looked like he wanted to protest, then thought better of it. "I suppose we deserved that." He sounded weary. "We'll have to make the DSHA publish the numbers."

"Yes," Yuriko said. "We also have a proposition for you." She took her briefcase and snapped it open. "I have here the numbers as reported from an anonymous source; our associate did the calculations. She also was so kind as to assemble some slides from her personal archives. There are a lot more than those, of course…"

xxx

Professor Gottschalk entered the stage together with a smartly dressed younger man, who was using a cane. Gottschalk had bags under his eyes, and looked for all the world as if he'd slept little to none last night. "Good morning, Ladies and Gentlemen. I'm afraid I'm feeling a little under the weather today, so my assistant will do the presentation." Without further ado, Gottschalk plopped down on a chair, and let the younger man take over the microphone.

Whispers about the German's possible exploits with Dr. MacTaggart started and abated after a frown at the instigators from the man with the cane.

"Good morning." A bright smile. "My name is Charles Xavier. My father was Brian Xavier, a nuclear physicist. I'm sure some of you have run across his work during your studies?"

A few nods, and people noted Xavier's Britsh accent.

"Anyhow. For the first part of the talk, I will do some playing with numbers. You also were promised pictures, which will make up the second part. So, to start, I would like an estimate from you: How many mutants, do you think, were discovered in the USA in 1966?"

Frowns. Some daring journalist raised his hand.

"Eight hundred?"

Xavier waggled his head. "Anyone else?"

Another young person, a woman this time. "Two thousand?"

Gasps. Given the number of available test subjects, that had to be far too high.

"I'm afraid this still isn't correct. But, there is one who could tell us. Mister Kelly of the Department of Sub-Human Affairs is on the guest list…" Xavier looked around, then his gaze latched onto a middle aged blond man in the second last row, who squirmed under the scrutiny. His already rosy complexion grew spotty.

"Yes, I'm with the DSHA," the man said. "But I couldn't possibly tell you the numbers."

Xavier tilted his head. "You are lying."

More squirming, people looking at Mister Kelly askance, because they couldn't believe he wouldn't have an estimate.

"Well," and Mister Kelly cleared his throat, "I guess, there might have been, ah, several thousand cases investigated?"

Murmurs from the audience. This didn't match what they knew.

Also, Xavier pursed his lips in annoyance. "According to an anonymous source within the DSHA, you did investigate approximately ten thousand new-borns, which is about one percent of the children born that year. Let me give you the exact numbers according to the source." Xavier limped to the blackboard and began scribbling, explaining the statistical devices used. "In short, we can expect to reach the five percent mark in 1990. If the US stop killing and imprisoning mutants now, those will start procreating around that time." A few more numbers, "and we'd have ten percent of the entire population mutants by 2030 at the latest."

Xavier fixed the audience with a genial smile, while they mulled over the presentation.

Finally, the journalist from earlier raised his hand, and Xavier gestured for him to speak.

"So, you think they would take over?"

Xavier frowned. "Not so much take over as inherit, I should think. It's Professor Gottschalk's and my firm belief that one day, we will have so many mutant youth that killing them all would severely hamper the population growth. There is a similar estimate for other countries, so one wouldn't be able to get around this by lowering the immigration standards. The DSHA is killing this country's future." He let that sink in. "To illustrate the point that there actually would be a future, we have brought pictures, albeit not ones from the Hamburg facility…"

A nod at someone in the background, the lights were dimmed, the projector hummed to life, and there was the first photograph: A skillfully carved sign next to an unpaved road, saying, "Welcome to Mutieville. Population: 91." The number was painted on, and obviously had been changed several times.

Murmurs. "What the heck?" "This isn't the first of April."

Second slide, something photographed from an old scientific article. CAN-P-00002 glowering at the camera from behind bars, more bear than man.

Third slide, graffiti carved into a wall. I am Creed.

Fourth slide, a man with short hair and big sideburns, smirking, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Victor Creed," Xavier says. "Amazing what a haircut and a razor can do, hm?"

Creed had a little purple sleeping girl with pigtails on his hip for the next slide, while a second one with unnaturally dark eyes was clinging to Creed's other side and grinning at the camera, showing fangs.

"His daughters. One of them is adopted."

Another grainy black-and-white picture. "Allow me to introduce USA-K-00052." A cowering little boy with a thick blind over his eyes. "Again, it's quite fascinating what a friendly environment can do."

The boy from before is now a young man with dark red glasses, looking up from some blueprints, pen in hand; he has a big grin on his face. The next picture shows him with an arm around a sweet looking girl.

"And lastly. Allow me to introduce the subject of yesterday's controversy. DEU-K-00009." Another wild man from an old file.

Next, a chessboard on a table, the game apparently has gone on for a while. "Black is winning. Check in three moves."

The game from a different angle, a man who had to be the mutant from before, now clean shaven, in a black turtleneck, frowning at the board, even though it was obvious he was playing black.

"I gave Erik quite a run for his money."

Indeed, there was Xavier sitting on the other end of the chessboard.

"Obviously, I didn't take those pictures. And the calculations for those numbers? Credit them all on Sal here."

Dusk in the forest, and a woman's shape, her eyes reflecting the light like a cat's.

"And also, surprise."

Last slide. GBR-M-00001, looking at the camera with his chin raised, in defiance.

"Oh my god," someone said, realizing who had been talking to them the entire time.

Then all hell broke loose, some people wishing to talk to Xavier, some people fleeing, scrambling over the seats, shouting for law enforcement, some too scared to move. A big man and two women suddenly appeared beside Xavier, and the man was Creed.

And then, they were gone.

After the panic died down, and the police assured everyone that the building was free of mutants - at least as far as they could tell - Professor Gottschalk and Dr. MacTaggart were the persons to go to for answers.

xxx

"MUTANTS CRASH BERKELEY CONFERENCE – Renowned Researchers In Cahoots With Sub-Humans."

Henry McCoy looked the accompanying photograph, Em-One glowering, Charles Xavier, standing on the podium beaming, then and now.

And for all the scandal and doom-saying, there was an editorial latching onto some numbers that said the DSHA had killed ten thousand children last year, and whether it might be worth to raise them instead, securing the use of their powers by making them love their country.

Very carefully, Hank folded the paper, and placed it onto the table. Then, he announced to the nurses that he wished to go for a walk. They looked at him askance - the weather war dreadful, and besides, he hadn't left the house since being shipped here. But he didn't care one whit about the rain, which was cold, like little stabs on his scalp and his face as he looked at the clouds and smiled. For the first time in months, he felt alive. Things were looking up.

xxx

Canada passed the Mutants Are Persons Act in March of 1968, which caused a mass exodus of heretofore undetected mutants from the US and the Commonwealth, all seeking political asylum.

Britain took a good look at the situation and the workforce they were likely to lose, and followed suit in November of the same year. With her were Japan, Australia, New Zealand and a number of European countries, and thus their closest allies began to lean on the US to change outdated legislation.

Emma Frost, now with white hair fitting her clothes, was the first mutant to be awarded the Peace Nobel Price, along with her partner Yuriko Oyama, and Charles Xavier, in 1999.

* * *

And that's all I wrote. Hope the few of you who are following liked it.


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